


As If A Phantom Caress'd Me

by SuleikasGhosts13



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, F/F, F/M, Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied/Referenced Torture, Meddling, Misunderstandings, Pregnancy, Sabotage, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuleikasGhosts13/pseuds/SuleikasGhosts13
Summary: Colette returns to NYC and stirs up trouble. In the midst of this storm, Edrisa and Malcolm try to navigate their budding relationship. And when someone from Martin's past shows up, Malcolm is forced to see his father in a whole new light. Things get very convoluted.Two Casefics for the price of one!
Relationships: Dani Powell/Colette Swanson, Malcolm Bright & Colette Swanson, Malcolm Bright & Edrisa Tanaka, Malcolm Bright/Edrisa Tanaka
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	1. Born Bad

**Author's Note:**

> Named after the Walt Whitman poem.  
> https://waltwhitman.quillsliteracy.org/as-if-a-phantom-caressd-me-49/
> 
> I actually love Colette, but I don't see her getting along with either Malcolm or Edrisa. And that tension is half the fun. <3
> 
> I suck at summaries.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since we're all locked down in quarantine, time to pump out the fanfiction!

"Ah, Special Agent Swanson, how good to see you! It's been ages, hasn't it?"

Colette felt her blood boil. The interrogation room was well lit, however, no amount of good lighting could ever make their suspect appear any less like a zombie. His skin was ashen, his cheeks sunken, the whites of his eyes yellowish. His pornstache, on the flipside, was still neatly trimmed.

The FBI had finally caught Ethan P. Truman. This bastard was better known to the public as the North Carolina Sadist, grabbing intoxicated servicemen off-base and torturing them. He even managed to take out an investigating NCIS agent, one Jethro Swanson. Colette's brother.

The N.C. Sadist was meticulous in his process, yet his flaw laid in his excessive need to upload recordings of his crimes to the internet. He hid them under titles of "homemade horror films" and "SFX," with links to fake online profiles casting his victims as actors. For awhile, he was able to get away with it, until one of his "actors" was recognized by a family friend.

With the help of the FBI's Cyber Division, they were able to narrow down their leads to a disgruntled, middle-aged deliveryman. They arrested him outside his home without any resistance. 

So far, Truman was cooperating with the authorities, albeit under certain conditions. For instance, he'd only divulge the locations of the disposal sites if a family member or their representative were present.

Today was Colette's turn. Of course, her parents insisted she'd send the family lawyer instead, but she'd wanted to see this to the end. She wanted to face the monster who ruined her life.

Four years... Four years since she received that devastating phone call, screaming hysterically into Special Agent Bright's arms. Four years since she went on that news conference, begging for information. Four years since her sister's miscarriage and four years since her friendships with Bright, Tyson, and Evans completely crumbled.

Everything that ever went wrong in her life, Colette blamed it on the man before her now, handcuffed to a metal table.

"Where's my brother, Truman," she snapped. 

"Impatient, are you, Agent Swanson? Come, have a seat. Agent Lincoln here was ever so kind to have already drawn up maps of my more preferred dumping grounds."

Percy rolled his eyes, nevertheless pulled out a chair for her. His disdain for this killer was palpable, but he finally learned not to fall for bait.

"You made me wait **_years_** to bury my sibling," she hissed. "I'm not interested in any of your long-drawn-out games. I want his location. Now."

"Fiiiiine," Truman sighed. "The others were a lot more agreeable. Those charts are useless, by the way. After I- finished- with dear Jethro, we went on a special little road trip. I know which city, but as I'm unfamiliar with the area, I'm a little hazy about exact coordinates."

"How far a distance are we talking about?" Percy paled, clenching his fist around the pen.

Truman smiled a wicked smirk. "New York City."


	2. You Can't Rule Anything Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you prefer we up the rating from M to E for a future chapter, let me know in the comments below.  
> I'm more than open to writing those types of scenes.
> 
> Carlos Merida is a real artist that I recently (very recently) fell in love with his work. Go check him out.  
> Adolf Wilkins is completely fictional.

"B-Bright?" A groggy voice answered his phonecall. "It's 3am."

"Edrisa!" Malcolm chirped, rocking on the balls of his feet. "I need to ask you about that bruise you found on our vic. Can I come up?"

"Come u- are you in front of my apartment?!"

Malcolm laughed. He'd gotten her address from Adolpho. Jessica Whitly often sent her chauffeur to the precinct to drive him home, but as he preferred to walk, he treated his colleagues instead.

Tonight, he couldn't sleep. Well, that part wasn't unusual. So he found himself pacing New York's deserted streets.

He was antsy over their most recent case. The beaten and strangled body of a teenage runaway was found dumped in the Hudson. They were covered in inexplicable contusions, and Malcolm figured they'd be essential in locating the primary crime scene.

"Alright, I-I'll buzz you up. Third floor, apartment sixteen," Edrisa said, perplexed.

Malcolm flew up the flights of stairs as if he sprouted wings. He rapped her apartment door in quick succession, until he could hear Edrisa squeak on the other side, "One moment!"

His voice caught in his throat as he caught sight of her.

"Sorry, I dropped my glasses on the floor and couldn't find them," she yawned, running a hand through her bedhead. Edrisa wore a simple black side-slit slip that ended around her knees. Was she even wearing underwear?

The absurdity of the hour struck him at full force. "My apologies for waking you," he stammered.

"'S fine," she waved him off. "I gotta be up in two hours anyways. I'm putting on the coffee, want any?"

"Thank you," he replied appreciatively.

Edrisa's flat was tiny and twee. It consisted only a cramped scullery, a dining room area, and behind a closed door, what must be the bedroom. 

The walls were painted a dark green, illuminated by antique lighting. The wallspace was covered in the gothic art of underground painters, vintage medical diagrams, and macerated bones. There stood a well-stocked bookcase on one end while a large terrarium with replica skulls sat at the other. In the center of the living room rested an oval wooden table, with lacy doily and a glass jar of cherry-flavored candy. It screamed **_Dr. Tanaka._**

Edrisa entered her quaint kitchenette and pulled out two mugs from the ligneous cupboards. "Any preferences? I've got Colombian, French Vanilla-"

"French vanilla sounds nice," he smiled, joining her.

When she reached above her, Edrisa's slip rode up her thighs. Malcom wondered, if he touched her there, would her skin feel as soft as it appears-?

The profiler shook his head. That was the second time tonight that his mind went straight to the gutter.

Not that Edrisa wouldn't reciprocate if he made a move. It was the precinct's worst kept secret that their lead medical examiner had it bad for Malcolm. She often showered him with compliments and flirtations, some of which were downright borderline. Their compeers were exasperated with her behavior, but Malcolm found it oddly endearing.

Still, he mourned his previous relationship with Eve. Too much history, too much distrust. His father had gotten her sister killed. He had failed to save Sophie, even though he was only a child at the time. In her desperation for closure, Eve had weaseled her way into the Whitly family. After the dust settled, they went their separate ways. Malcolm wasn't sure he was ready for another attempt at romance. 

"Cream and sugar?" Edrisa called over her shoulder.

"Yes, two please," he drew up two chairs for them and sat down. He slapped a manila folder onto the table. "I brought a copy of the casework."

"Excellent!" The coroner plopped right down next to him, immediately setting to work. "The ecchymosis around the throat, obviously, indicate cause of death by strangulation. The back is covered with these weirdly geomatric blemishes, and were created either shortly before or during her demise."

She picked up a snapshot and wrinkled her nose. "The killer made her dorsal look like a Carlos Merida mural."

The gears shifted in Malcolm's brain.

"There's little to no bruising on our victim's arms," he added, leaning forward. "Her assailant must've grabbed her by the neck, slamming her against a hard surface repeatedly before choking her."

"At an angle, too."

"Our killer is quite strong, and towers over the victim," the profiler stood to demonstrate in mime. "I believe we're looking for a man in his prime, twenties to thirties, and at a height of at least 5'8-5'9."

"It always amazes me, the speed of your deductions," Edrisa replied breathlessly. Malcom stared into her dark eyes, biting his lip as he felt a blush spread across his face.

_Oh no..._ He was becoming aroused, already imagining those same eyes gazing up at him as she swallowed him whole... He had to get out of here before he did something inappropriate.

"Do we know where?"

Malcolm blinked. Edrisa had gone back to studying the photographs.

"I-ah- have an idea," he replied awkwardly. _Right,_ he couldn't afford to mess around, he had a mystery to solve.

"I have a hunch we're searching for an art installation firm enough to withstand consistent bashing. You gave me that epiphany when you brought up Merida," he continued. "New Jersey coppersmith Adolf Wilkins was known for his cubist plaques, and it just so happens he has a piece in the East River Park!"

Malcolm took a long swig of his mug- _delicious-_ and grabbed his coat. "Thank you for all your help tonight, Dr. Tanaka."

"Anytime," Edrisa folded her arms around herself, as if taken by a sudden chill. "And Bright? Don't be a stranger around here, okay?"

Malcolm dipped his head, "Trust me, I won't."


	3. Picasso With Formaldehyde

Edrisa was late. She'd accidentally fell back to sleep after Bright left in a hurry. With a frozen pizza slice in hand, she ran up the steps into the precinct.

Lieutenant Arroyo had requested to meet with her as soon as she arrived. He wouldn't say why, though, just that it revolved a new case they received.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," JT chuckled as soon as he saw her. "Heard Bright gave you quite the wakeup call."

She rolled her eyes. "How's your case going? Did you make any progress?"

"Even better, we brought a suspect into custody," the detective jabbed a thumb behind him. "We're letting him cool his heels in holding. He should be ready to sing right about now."

"That was quick," Edrisa remarked. It hadn't even been a full 24 hours since the body was discovered.

"When we went to secure the scene," added Dani, appearing next to JT suddenly, "we found this guy trying to wash away evidence. Bright was right, the murder did occur at the Wilkins mount."

"He certainly matches the preliminary profile." Edrisa spun around, spotting Bright approaching with a strange look in his eye. He seemed-

"You're upset," Dani told him bluntly.

"Our suspect's ID came in when we ran his fingerprints," he grimaced. "He's the victim's older brother, Devin Shaw, age twenty-five."

Dani nodded in sympathy and patted him on the back. This wasn't their first case of sororicide, far from it; but these always seem to rub the overprotective Whitly brother the wrong way. It also coincided with tonight's airing of Ainsley's special news report, so thoughts of his own sister were bound to plague him during this interview.

"There you are, Edrisa," Gil Arroyo opened the door to his office. 

"Ah, Lieutenant! I'm so sorry about my tardiness," she practically ran to him.

"No need to apologize, we all heard how city boy over there dragged you out of bed last night," he responded with a hint of mischief. "I warned Bright to give you a decent heads-up next time."

Edrisa reddened. "H-he was just doing his job. I'm not ma-ad."

Gil threw a couple of thick folders onto his desk before he sat. "I need a favor from you, Edrisa," he said calmly, fidgeting with his wedding band.

"This the case you mentioned?" The coroner grabbed one.

"Afraid so," Gil bobbed his head. "Edrisa, are you familiar with the North Carolina Sadist?"

"Oh yes," she gasped. "They caught him a few months back! Six murders and two failed attempts. He'd then upload videos claiming they were staged."

"Good, then I don't have to debrief you too much," he glanced out the office window for a moment. "The Feds are sending two of their agents later this week for a recovery mission. Apparently Ethan Truman buried one of his victims within city limits."

"Wait- he was operating in **_New York?!_** "

This city _really_ couldn't catch a break from serial killers lately. The Copycat Surgeon, the Junkyard Killer, and now _this guy!_

"As far as we know, this was only a one-time deal," Gil pressed on. "He's claiming that because this victim, the NCIS agent, was so high-profiled, he couldn't risk dumping him at his usual sites."

"So he risks driving up nine hours with a dead body in his trunk? There's more to this story, isn't there?"

"That's what the FBI are going to try to figure out while they're in town," Gil folded his hands together. He was clearly agitated. "As for that favor, Edrisa: I need you to scour your records for any John Does in the last four years that may be a possible match."

"It won't be easy, but I'll try my best," the medical examiner promised. "Sir, I have to ask: is Bright-?"

"-aware of the situation, yes." Gil was twirling his ring again. "I informed him a few minutes ago. While the Federal agents are working, he'll be making himself scarce."

Edrisa's shoulders slumped. "They really _despise_ him, huh?"

The cop sighed deeply, "There's a history of bad blood."

Returning to the chaos of the pit, Dr. Tanaka caught sight of Gil's team leaving interrogation. Their perp, Devin, was screeching, "Amy! Amy!" as they lead him away.

Bright looked disgusted. 

"He confessed," he explained. "They had argued over money. He killed his baby sister over a measly hundred dollars."

"How horrible," she shook her head, appalled.

An uneasy silence fell between them. Her mind began to wander back to last night- how handsome he looked, hair disheveled but still dressed impleccably. If _only_ he weren't there for business-

"Edrisa? Um," Malcolm spoke abruptly, "sorry again for disturbing you. Let me make it up in some fashion. "

"No, you really don't," Edrisa replied, flustered. 

"I must insist," he grinned. "How about tonight? We grab some takeout and watch a movie at my apartment? I could show you my extensive collection of antique weaponry?"

"Well, I can never say no to lethal museum pieces," she couldn't help but giggle. "I'll meet you here after my shift ends?"

"Sounds good!"

Edrisa's fantastic mood buoying her, she hummed a catchy tune all the way to the morgue. She took little notice of the homeless woman with blonde hair and missing teeth at the front desk, relating her worries to the officer in hushed tones.

"I want to report a missing persons. One of the kids from our camp disappeared two nights ago and nobody has seen her since...."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love is in the air!  
> No-no- put down that can of lysol!!
> 
> Next chapter is multiple POVs, so it may be released a little later than normal.


	4. ADN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to break this chapter up into 3, especially since Dani's POV is longer than I initially planned. Give that woman her own chapter!
> 
> Very brutal descriptions of torture ahead. Be forewarned.

Colette had the television blasting in the background, white noise as she finished packing.

"I'm surprised you managed to convince our supervisors to let you in on this one, Colette." Percy leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. 

"Agent Evans is too incompetent to be trusted," she hissed. "It'll take years to find Jethro if we rely on him."

"He _did_ catch the killer, though," Percy argued. "You're too close to this case, Colette. You could potentially jeapodize it by your mere presence."

"When we find his burial, then I'll excuse myself," she persisted. "I won't get in the way while they're collecting evidence, I swear it. But Percy? I can't stand by on the sidelines any longer."

The Bureau's head topographer relented with a huff. There was no sense debating her, she'd already made up her mind.

The harsh jingle of ADN distracted her as it began its dramatic programming. "Tonight on American Direct News' Special Report- 'I Survived: Close Encounters with Serial Killers.'"

Colette leaned on the edge of her bed and turned up the volume. A montage played.

"They seemed like such ordinary people. I never could've imagined my life was in danger," an elderly matron cried.

"He threatened me with a knife," a woman obscured in shadows whimpered.

"I was barely able to escape with my life," added a soldier who Colette immediately recognized as Private Harrison.

"I didn't realize Harrison was open to interviews," Percy said, shocked.

"He probably feels it's safe enough with his kidnapper apprehended," Colette pulled out her phone. "However, he didn't tell me he would be in New York."

"-three amazing tales of courage and tenacity," the narrator, a pretty blonde woman, continued. "I'm Ainsley Whitly from American Direct News, and this-"

She stopped texting immediately. "Ah, that's probably why. Harrison might've thought I wouldn't approve."

"That's the Surgeon's daughter?" Asked Percy, coming to sit next to her.

"Yep, and apparently she's ruthless when it comes to pursuing a story."

"But you don't dislike her?"

Colette shook her head. "I wouldn't trust her with a ten-foot-pole, but no, I don't hate her. She managed to keep herself alive after running into the Junkyard Killer, _twice_. You have to give that girl props."

The screen switched to a beautiful cityscape. "Our first story takes us to Charlotte, North Carolina."

"You know that bar where Truman picked up his first three victims went under," he thumbed his own phone. "'Too much negative press,' they said."

"And I'm sure it wasn't the lawsuit Harrison and Jonson filed," she said sarcastically. "All three men were clearly in distress and were requesting help. Can you imagine the sort of scum who frequents there if the staff's so readily turns a blind eye?"

"I can imagine, sadly."

"When I awoke," Harrison was saying, a tremor in his voice, "my eyelids were duck taped shut, I was gagged, and a burlap bag was tied over my head. I was shackled to a pole in what I believe was the basement. The floor was cement, you see."

"He was right, of course," Percy leaned his chin in his palm. "We found Harrison's DNA in Truman's cellar. That's where he held his victims."

"He had this- well, he called it his "toy," but what it really was was a homemade cat-o-nine-tails," the military man shuddered. "He would whip me until I was raw."

"I'll be right back," Colette needed a moment. She raced to the bathroom and slammed the door. Splashing freezing water on her face, she tried to get her breathing under control. 

Colette had heard Harrison recount his experiences several times- but it became increasingly harder to stand. The serviceman got out; her brother never did.

Jonson and Harrison were able to flee because Truman was inexperienced- or cocky- enough to believe he could transport them to a secondary location before killing them. After these failed attempts, he resorted to strangling his targets while they were imprisoned in the home.

Drying her face on a hand towel, she returned to find Percy right outside her door. "Are you okay, Colette?"

"To be honest, I don't know if I ever will," she groaned.

Percy spun around and lifted the remote to change the station, but his friend held his arm. "Wait."

"In your own words, Private Harrison, why do you believe the North Carolina Sadist never uploaded your video?" Ainsley Whitly inquired, tipping her head to one side.

"To me, it's obvious," Harrison interlocked his fingers together. "I was out there; living, breathing, _thriving_. My face was all over the media. I was speaking with reporters about what happened. I don't think he could risk sharing that footage without getting caught."

Although Colette did not begrudge this man for surviving, right at this instant she felt utterly nauseous. "On second thought...."


	5. Issues With Trust

**When Bright mentioned takeout, I expected submarine sandwiches. He went and bought expensive French cuisine! 😋😋😋**

**-E**

Dani smiled widely, typing a quick response.

**haha, last time he got high, he wanted to make grilled cheeses with some super pricey brie.**

**-D**

"Something good happen, dearie?" Adelaide Bellwether asked, leaning over to look at her phone.

"Two of my friends are on a date together," Dani stashed her cell in her coat pocket. "They're being adorably awkward."

"Aw, how cute," she gave her a toothy grin. "Detective Powell, I want to thank you again for the cab ride home."

"Home" was a tent underneath a railroad bridge on the edge of the Bronx.

"Don't worry about it, Adele," Dani replied, using the homeless woman's nickname. The cab driver snorted. "We appreciate you coming forward. It's good to know these kids have someone looking out for them. I'm sorry about what happened to Amy."

"Amy was a sweet girl," Adele said tearfully. "She told me that she left home because she couldn't live with her brother's temper any longer and her parents were too frightened to intervene. I don't understand how he found her..."

"It could've been by chance." Dani knew, actually, that Devin had spotted his sister panhandling. But this was still a very active investigation, so she kept tight-lipped about any details.

The cab slowed to a stop. "Are you going to be okay?" Dani asked.

Adele sighed, "I'll survive. I always do." She waved sadly as the taxi pulled away.

"Thank god," the driver exhaled. When Dani gave him a dirty glare, he glanced at his rearview mirror and shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, officer, but I'm going to have to Febreze my car when I get back. She reeked!"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you should say it while you still have a paying customer in the vehicle," she retorted. She folded her arms, staring out the window.

Dani and Adele went way back, to before even her days in Narcotics. The wheezy old woman was a prominent figure in the homeless community, and as such she knew everybody's business. If you wanted information, she was more than happy to share over a cup of coffee. Your typical gossip queen.

Sure, Adele had a rap sheet, but it was decades old. She served her albiet _lengthy_ time and stayed mostly out of trouble upon her release.

Dani wouldn't call themselves "friends," but she did care for her. And she did leave her her favorite box hair dye outside her tent every Christmas.

Speaking of friends, Dani heard the _ping ping_ of her text messages going off. This time, it was JT.

**Tally made olla de carne if you're still in the area stop by our place. We'll put a plate out for you.**

Dani's stomach growled. Okay, she'll bite.

"Ah, sir, change of plans- can you take a left turn at this next intersection?"

Tally's cooking was absolutely heavenly. It was her passion, the reason she became a pediatric nutritionist. Tell her about a new dish one morning? She'll have it served on the kitchen table that evening.

Dani couldn't say no, especially not to steaming hot beef stew. As she sat down, she felt her mouth just water at the smells. "This looks delicious, Tally, thank you."

JT's wife chuckled, "Careful, it's piping."

"Jeez, you could start your own five-star restaurant," JT gushed, taking a large spoonful. "HOT HOT HOT!"

"Told you!"

After supper, they killed time playing several hands of Canadian Poker. Tally completely decimated them.

"I'm out," she shouted triumphantly, her third win.

"And I am totally strapped for cash," her husband folded.

"Well, it's all going to a good cause," Tally grinned, laying a hand on her stomach. She was a few months along in her pregnancy.

"That reminds me..." The couple gazed into each other's eyes before twisting towards Dani.

"Hey Dani?"

"How would you feel about becoming our baby's godmother?" JT beamed.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, no matter how hard she tried wiping them away. "Like a character from some mafia flick?"

Laughter filled the room.

"JT, Tally," Dani's smile radiated happiness, "I would love it."

"Aaaaaaah shit!"

Dani was so enveloped in her own joy that she didn't immediately register the cursing stranger on the floor to her apartment. The newcomer was a tall, handsome black man in a three-piece-suit and trenchcoat. He was surrounded by suitcases and bags, fumbling with his keys in one hand.

"Fuck," he swore again as he dropped them.

"You alright there?" Dani asked cautiously. Her suite was on the opposite side.

"Huh?" He glanced up, sheepish. "Oh, yeah, sorry. Moving Day blues, you know?"

"Nothing seems to be going right? That was me two years ago," she empathized. "Need any help?"

"Thanks, if you could just hold my laptop bag while I unlock this, I should be okay."

The door flung open. As he retrieved his bags, he called over his shoulder, "By the way, I'm Greg. Gregory Tyson."

"I'm Dani Powell. We're going to be neighbors."

Tyson returned for more luggage. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Powell," he shook her hand. "I'm sure we'll get along like old pals."


	6. Too Close

The movie they picked out was horrendous. It was some cheesy superhero blockbuster JT recommended. They spent the first twenty minutes of the film poking fun and cringing.

Then Edrisa fell asleep. Malcolm realized he should've foreseen this; normal people usually get upwards eight hours of rest. And by his actions, he'd taken a bulldozer to that schedule.

Not that he was complaining. She looked so damn cute curled against him, head on his chest and arm hung over his stomach, softly snoring. Doubtless Edrisa would be mortified if she woke up.

Careful not to rouse her, he pulled off her glasses and swathed the couch blanket around them. He tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear. It all seemed pleasantly domestic.

He flipped channels til he reached the news. He missed the beginning of Ainsley's program, but there was still another eighty minutes left.

"In early November of last year," his sister recited, "the nation was introduced to the prolific John Watkins, better known as the Junkyard Killer. Currently on trial for the murder of twenty-one people, he remains locked away on Rikers Island."

Malcolm wrapped his left arm around Edrisa's shoulders, bringing her closer. He could feel his tremors stir, but the coroner's presence grounded him.

"I myself had a couple of run-ins with Watkins," a picture appeared of Ainsley in the hospital, stitches running down the side of her face. The images switched to the junkyard.

"Under the alias of Paul Lazar, this killer spent the better part of the past twenty years targeting the most vulnerable individuals in our community. He would abduct them, starve them for days, and then trap them inside cars bound for compaction."

"With us today is one woman who narrowly avoided such a gruesome fate," it transitioned to show a figure shrouded in darkness. "As she would prefer to remain anonymous, we have altered her voice and appearance. We'll refer to her as "Linda." Linda, thank you for agreeing to speak with us."

"Bright?"

Malcolm glanced down. Edrisa had awoken. She went stiff as soon as she found her bearings and discovered she was sprawled on top of him.

"Fifteen years ago-"

"Hello, Edrisa," he placed a hand on her head, encouraging her to relax. "Guess that movie was worse than we thought? It put you right to sleep."

Edrisa sat up, Malcolm's hand traveling to the small of her back. She rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?"

"A little after ten." Dread crept up his chest and made it hard for Malcolm to breath. She wasn't about to leave, was she?

Edrisa seemed to contemplate it for a minute, then shook her head and leaned back down into his arms. "What are you watching?"

Macolm sighed in relief. "My sister's show," he explained. "She's interviewing the survivors of different serial killers. This one's about the Junkyard Killer."

Edrisa's hold on him tightened. She'd peeked into his medical records, knew the sort of torture Watkins had put him through. "Is this that lady who came forward after he was caught?"

"Sure sounds like her, but she's exaggerating a lot of details. The FBI were able to collaborate with other witnesses that Watkins _did_ approach her and _did_ try to convince her to leave with him. But how he pulled a knife on her when she told him to get lost? The police were never informed of that."

A pause, then-

"I'm glad you came back to us," Edrisa whispered.

Malcolm's heart swelled. "I'm sorry for scaring you," he said.

"My parents and I were at a restaurant when I got the call," she pressed on. "You know my Dad's a retired detective? He came with me to the morgue and... stayed while I autopsied Detective Shannon. I was in a really bad headspace."

Her voice had acquired that shaky quality he rarely heard. "I was so afraid you were going to end up on my table next."

Malcolm couldn't promise her that it wouldn't happen again, that would be a lie. His self-preservation instincts were atrocious. Instead, he slipped his hand in hers, caressing the knuckles with his thumb.

Admittedly, he had invited her here with ulterior motives, wanting to figure out just where he stood with her. Since leaving her place, his mind was constantly distracted with lewd thoughts. Body flush on him, strapped tight in his restraints, or laying across a desk with her knees hung over his shoulders....

The medical examiner, however, deserved better than to be treated as a rebound. If his emotions didn't go beyond lust, he wouldn't pursue them.

His concerns were unfounded. They went into an animated debate over a coq au vin of who better exhibited cadavers in their art, Géricault or Bloom. Laughed over an exceedingly bad flick. Felt sheer contentment in cuddling. The more time he spent with Edrisa, the more he _wanted_ to spend that time with her.

Malcolm had fallen hook, line, and sinker.

Rubbing her back in small, soothing circles, he asked spontaneously, "Can you stay the night?"

He could feel her pulse quicken. "What?"

He lifted her chin, staring into her brown eyes, and leaned in for a kiss. For one agonizing heartbeat, she didn't respond.

Suddenly he felt her smile form against his lips and allowed his tongue access. She tasted of cherries, chicken, and wine, and Malcolm simply couldn't get enough.

Grabbing her firm ass, he pulled her onto his lap. Fingers entangled in his hair and yanked him deeper into the kiss. When Edrisa came up for air, Malcolm started in on her jaw.

"Ma-Malcolm," she moaned.

Hearing his name set his skin on fire. He latched onto her throat, sucking and nibbling. Nimble digits made quick work with the buttons of her blouse, the light fabric slipping off her shoulders and pooling at her elbows. He fiddled with the hooks of her bra, tugging the lacy garment down to expose her chest.

" _God_ , Edrisa," Malcolm groaned, palming her breasts, "you're gorgeous."

She snickered, "You're _always_ gorgeous."

"Next Friday will mark the fifty-fifth anniversary of the Market Street Massacre-"

Malcolm grabbed the remote and hurriedly shut off his flat-screen tv. Panting hard now, he kissed her again before proposing, "Let's move this to the bed, shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaand our scene fades to black.  
> We gotta keep under that M rating, right? 😉
> 
> We'll be getting into the meat of this mystery in the next few chapters, so look forward to that!


	7. If You're Lucky

"O-ow...."

Edrisa's consciousness returned to her as she felt a sharp pain on her wrist. The dawn brightened the bedroom, enough that she didn't need to switch on the bedside lamp. A firm hand grasped her.

Bright was sound asleep beside her. His brown hair hung over his eyes and his features were scrunched up.

_He must be having a nightmare,_ she thought. He did warn her about those.

Carefully, she pried his fingers off. Angry red welts greeted her. They would soon turn into bruises, of course, but at least they weren't anything too serious.

Edrisa twisted towards him, brushing his bangs out of his face. He seemed so frightened. He started whimpering.

"Dad...."

A wave of protectiveness- and guilt- washed over her. She grabbed his hands tightly and leaned forward to whisper urgently in his ears.

"You're safe, Malcolm. You're in your apartment. Your father isn't here, he's in his cell at Claremont. You're in your own home, and nobody is going to hurt you."

Words of comfort seem to do little to help, however. He continued to sob, weakly flailing his arms.

"I'm right here, Malcolm. Edrisa is right here."

When Dani had told her about his night terrors, she went online to research everything available. Unfortunately, the articles actively discouraged waking the sufferer up. You just had to wait it out.

Still, it was hard to watch.

"You're safe. You're safe," she repeated, hoping to reach him. "Your father can't touch you. He's locked away. He's at Claremont."

Edrisa felt partially responsible for his worsening condition. If she hadn't shown him that pocketknife from the Surgeon's station wagon, he'd never run off to confront his father and gotten stuck in lockdown. She'd seen Ainsley's interview, of Dr. Whitly screaming at his children. There were consequences for her actions.

"You're going to be okay. You're safe now."

Eventually, Bright settled down, though it did take around twenty minutes. His breathing evened out and he stopped thrashing. Planting a kiss to his temple, his partner took that as an opportunity to get ready for work.

As her apartment complex was in the opposite direction of the city morgue, she doubted she had enough time to run back. Luckily, Edrisa always kept spare clothes and makeup in her locker, so she figured she'd change in the woman's bathroom.

Hopping in Malcolm's luxurious shower, she blasted the water temperature and lathered herself in his over-priced body wash.

Malcolm had done a number to her body, love bites coating her neck and running down to her thighs. Although a part of her wanted to keep them visible as a massive middle finger to those colleagues who argued Bright was out of her league, logically she knew it wouldn't be professional. She would have to cover them up with foundation.

_Click._

The bathroom door opened. She watched a groggy profiler march over to the basin, lean his arm against the wall, and ask, "Care if I join you?"

She nodded enthusiastically. He climbed behind her and pulled her into an embrace. Malcolm murmured in her hair, "You were so good to me last night."

Edrisa hummed serenely. Attentive, patient, and willing to try anything she suggested, Bright was even better than she could've possibly imagined. And to think, if someone had approached her two days ago and told her she'd be intimate with Malcolm Bright, crime-solver extraordinaire, she would have written them off as crazy.

He was kissing her nape, hands reaching down. "I wish you could call out sick."

"The Lieutenant would kill us," she moaned. She extended her own to tug his face to hers.

"What's this?" Malcolm asked, puzzled. He was staring at her wrist. "I don't remember giving you those."

"It's nothing," Edrisa whipped her hand away as if she'd touched a hot stove.

"No, it's not nothing," he insisted, spinning her around. "I hurt you during one of my night terrors. Didn't I?"

He sounded so broken, Edrisa feared that he might pull away. "Listen, Malcolm, it was my decision to share a bed with you. I accepted the possibility that you could've hit or kicked me during an episode. Besides, you only grabbed me; it looks much worse than it actually is."

Malcolm sighed, his gaze distant. After a tense moment, he clasped her bruised wrist and brought it to his lips. "We'll have to figure a way to keep you safe when you're with me. Maybe tightening my restraints?"


End file.
